


The Auditore Challenge

by LivaWilborg



Category: Assassin's Creed, Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Assassin's Creed II, Carnival, M/M, Other, Poisoning, Venezia | Venice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 04:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5814850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivaWilborg/pseuds/LivaWilborg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezio finds himself on the wrong side of his own profession when he is poisoned by a beautiful assassin and Leonardo must brave the highs and lows of Venetian society to find the antidote and save his friend.</p><p>Ezio/Leonardo implied in the epilogue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Poison

 

The reason for his fascination was not her hair, although it shone like a copper-red beacon below him in the bright and festive lantern light, but the way she moved through the crowd. Lithe and willowy; not once caught in the sluggish movement of the hundreds of partiers in the streets, she moved elegantly, upstream, going where she pleased.

She once lifted her head, he assumed it was to look at the lanterns above her, and he saw that she was unmasked, unlike the other revellers. She never hurried but seemed to be out on a lonely errand of exploration and he sometimes caught sight of her wistful smile as she looked around her curiously. On occasion, someone would call out to get her attention, musicians would drop to their knees to serenade her and men in the crowd would simply turn and stare.

Ezio grinned in the starlit darkness as he followed her languidly from his vantage point on the rooftops. The night was only just beginning and he had no obligations. He had considered going to the thieves guild instead of to one of his lodgings or safe-houses scattered around the city; but if something more interesting presented itself, who was he to argue? 

There was a balcony below him and he dropped down softly, unseen. He scaled the railing and made his way to street level in shades cast by coloured lamps and fireworks. He was grinning to himself in the shadow of his hood as he realised that following the woman was actually a challenge down here if he wanted to stay friends with the crowd.

There was something exquisite about her. Knowledge in her smile. A softness to her laugh as an enthusiastic man in the crowd hooked an arm around her slender waist and swung her around to the music of the festival, her curls bobbing around her face as she danced a few steps. A very firm and graceful exit as she dodged the embrace after a twirl and left.

Ezio caught up with her. Calmly, he followed her, walking just a few steps behind, studying the swaying of her body under the simple green and ochre gown. His unchallenged presence in the crowd kept her back free and she gradually slowed her pace until she stood still in the ocean of masked faces. Finally she turned. Her eyes were an icy, pale grey, almost white, rimmed with a circle of darkness that gave her a predatory look.

 _Wolf eyes_ Ezio thought to himself as he took in the contrast to the sweetness of her pink lips and the slight blush on her cheeks. He smiled.

“No mask?” she finally inquired; a heavy accent in her voice he couldn’t place.

“No. But that makes us both special on a night like this. We should celebrate.”

She gave a small laugh: ”I should be home. I should not at all be celebrating.”

“Where is home?” Ezio asked.

”I really should not be telling strangers in the street!” she stated.

“I agree. We should get off the street. You should let me buy you refreshments somewhere.”

She laughed, incredulous: ”Very smooth, Signore! But I really think I ought to go home.” she said, not turning away.

“I understand.” Ezio said.

”Really?”

”Of course. You must be exhausted.” he said, cashing in a puzzled smile from her. “After all,” he continued: “the journey from Heaven is long and tiring…”

There was a smile that very slowly spread on her pale face until he could see her small, white teeth: “So is the journey from Hell…” she finally said: “And really, how old do you think this line is?”

“I think this was what Adam used to try to charm Eve with.”

“Do you think it worked?”

“Yes.” He grinned: “Of course he was the only man in the world… But you cannot fault me for reverting to the classics when it’s obvious you must have heard every single line before.”

A small smile was kept carefully in check in the corner of her mouth: “I am not getting rid of you, am I?” she sighed.

“No!” Ezio stated.

She leaned close to him in the crowd and slowly pulled his hood off: “One drink, then.” she stated: “One! And then I _will_ go home.”

 

 o-O-o

 

The streets around them slowly grew more quiet and empty as they travelled away from the centre of the celebration.

“…But as I say, I’m still new to the city. I have almost no friends here.” she said as they walked through the city in the direction of her lodgings, her hand resting on Ezio’s arm

“I cannot believe that will last long, Mette.” he said, pronouncing her foreign name slowly as if tasting it.

“I can. Friendship is usually slow. Friends are those whose respect and loyalty you have earned and who are willing to sacrifice for you. That takes time. I will probably not stay here long enough.”

“I find that the respect I have for my friends happened in the blink of an eye.” he said and then added: “What could a lady be doing that would keep her travelling like that?”

Mette laughed and stopped by a house in the street of dyers: “This is where I live.” A stray burst of fireworks exploded over their heads casting dancing golden shadows on her face. “Thank you for the drink and for walking me home.” she said giving him a testing smile.

“You are welcome, Madonna.” Ezio touched her hand on his arm. “I will find you tomorrow and torment you with a slightly less classic line.”

Mette took his hand: “You would really leave? Without expecting anything for your trouble?”

“What trouble? What did you think I would do?”

“I… expected that you were not the kind of man to return. More the kind of man who is gone in the morning.”

“Only if you want me to.”

“I’ll let you know.” she whispered, leaning closer to let her lips brush his very lightly. “Come with me.”

Ezio opened his mouth to reply, but she quickly kissed him quiet. “I’m sorry.” she finally whispered, breathlessly.

“What for?”

“Ending the chase game so soon, but I realized that I need a friend. If only for a little while.” She led him up the narrow and winding stairs of the house, each floor a tenement, and unlocked the door to a small apartment only furnished by a table and a bed. Their lips were apart only for long enough to let her light a candle from the embers in the brick oven built into the wall.

“Thank God for light.” Ezio finally breathed, taking in her beauty in the flickering light, his fingers proficiently undoing the string keeping her outer gown closed.

“You are very armed…” she giggled between kisses. “May I disarm you?”

“If you can.” Ezio grinned.

“I like a challenge.” Her fingers undid his sword belt, discarding the weapon on the nearby table. The knife belt, the ammunition, the money was discarded with it, and she laughed softly as Ezio pushed her dress down over her shoulders and hips, leaving her in her under-gown.

Mette’s curious fingers undid his doublet, searching for weapons under his shirt as their lips met. She laughed softly as she padded down his arms, stopping at the bracers: “These are probably weapons too…” she laughed, and then sucked in her breath at a metallic glint off a blade resting snugly under the leather:

“Fuck…” Mette whispered: “They really are weapons. Are you at war?”

Ezio lowered his eyes, almost shamefully and his fingers quickly undid the familiar buckles. “I am at war.” he said quietly and put the blades down: “But not with you.”

A cat-grin slowly spread on her lips: “Not yet.” she purred and led him to the bed, pushed him down and crawled after him: “Are there any more weapons I should know about?”

“…” he drew a breath to speak, but thought better of it and they both laughed: “No, I’m not going to say that...” he grinned as his fingers explored her skin.

“Straying from the classics already?” Mette smiled, leaning in over him in the bed, holding something in the palm of her hand. “I’m almost sad about this.” she said, caressing his chest as she blew a handful of the powder she held in her hand into his face.

It was less than a heartbeat’s confusion before Ezio raised his arm to grab her, pinning her down on the bed. He tried to blink the powder out of his eyes. Her smile slowly faded and her beauty swam before his blurry vision.

“What did you do!” he demanded, pushing her forcefully further down into the mattress. Mette just lay still under him: “Their names were Taddeo and Arlo.” she said: “And their mother loved them both...”

The burning sensation in his eyes intensified and Ezio pushed himself off the bed, feeling a wave of horror as his legs threatened to give way beneath him. “Who!” he demanded. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Steadying himself against the wall, furiously rubbing his eyes, he felt movement nearby and struck out. He heard Mette gasp when his fist connected with her shoulder. In his hazy field of vision, she jumped away, only to step close again, fast and agile like a dancer, to slice him across his lower arm.  It was just a thin cut, hardly worth his notice, and still half blinded, he reached out for her as she fled towards the door.

“I guess I want you to be the kind of man who is gone in the morning...” he heard her shout as he stumbled forward.

Warm blood stuck his shirt sleeve to his skin as he fell towards the table where his weapons lay. One part of his mind was turning over the fact that she was not only a woman, but a beautiful one of her kind. The other was satisfied that she would make a lovely corpse. Ezio leaned over the table, steadying himself for a moment, his eyes closed, he took a deep breath to calm his body and reduce the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.

There was the swish of her gown, the click of her heels as she reached the landing outside the door and stopped; the movement and breath of at least three others were audible. Heavy footsteps, armour pieces clanking, weapons being drawn.

“His money will be your tips for the evening.” he heard Mette say. “Remember, it has to be slow.”

Ezio heard the swoosh of a heavy weapon travelling slowly through air and he raised his blurry gaze to see three men enter. Broad, armoured, the one in the front wielding a heavy club which he swung testily. Ezio didn’t need his eyes to know that the man was grinning. They always were. Hoping his feet and legs would carry him he closed his fist on the hilt of his rapier, anger bubbling under the surface. He took a slow step closer to the men advancing, steadying himself with a hand on the table.

“What’s the matter? Felling a little bit poisoned, lover bo-“ the man in the front mocked, raising his weapon, but the sentence was cut short when Ezio leapt forward, closing the gap between them; the slender, pliable blade hitting the man’s eye and travelling forcefully through the skull. The man dropped, pulling Ezio with him. The world swam for a second, and the assassin struggled to keep his balance. There was an audible chink as the blade, stuck in a bony crevasse, snapped as it fought to leave Ezio’s hand.

“Fuck, I thought you said he would be weak!” came a shocked yell from one of the two men remaining. The other man gave a horrified kind of snarl and lashed out with a knife which slashed across Ezio’s shoulder, only biting lightly through the padding of the heavy doublet, doing little damage.

The flickering light from the candle and the embers in the small oven and Ezio’s blurred vision conspired to confuse him, but he closed his eyes and kicked. He heard a scream as the man who had called out fell to his freshly broken knee.

Still hoping his woozy body would obey his commands Ezio dropped down and hit the screaming man on the floor with the hilt of the rapier, the metal ornamentation protecting his hand bending slightly with the impact.

“He is in there. Hurry. Double pay to the first man to break a bone.” Mette shouted out on the landing and Ezio heard the sound of several more people coming up the stairs. He planted a fresh blow on the face of the man on the floor and suddenly a wave of nausea and disorientation hit him and he rocked backwards involuntarily, feeling as though the world was trying to throw him off. A sound of air displaced by swinging knife just where his face and neck had been the second before he tilted over violently reminded him that there was no time for weakness. He heard shouting on the stairs, footfalls just on the landing outside.

Quickly making a decision, knowing it would hurt, knowing he was only alive because of luck and surprise, he turned towards the man who had just swung the knife at him, shouldered him and pushed him forcefully towards the window. The man made an odd, gasping yell at the impact and swung the knife aimlessly before the glass of the window broke against his back.

In Ezio’s dizzy gaze, the look in the man’s eyes was almost comical when he felt nothing to support him on either side but the assassin tackling him. The reckless fall seemed suspended in Ezio’s mind. The moment frozen. His mind clear. Below him in the moonlight was a thin rope, suspended from pulleys in the wall on either side of the street, to let the craftsmen who occupied the surrounding area dry their dyed cloth.  He didn’t think any further than that, it was enough to give him hope and a course of action to follow. Time returned full force. There was the rush of air, the scream of the man he was holding on to, the horrible thrill of the fall.

Ezio’s hand caught the clothes line.

The attacker was still holding on to him but continued to fall to the street below and the assassin gave a pained gasp as the force of the fall threatened to pull his arm out of its socket. The man fell, the knife he held kissed the assassin’s leg on the way down.

The clothes line gave a crisp snap and broke. Ezio felt the embrace of an unforgiving brick wall as he was flung downwards again, desperately scrabbling for something else to break the fall. His fingers caught a window ledge, but the street below seemed to reach for him.

 _I’m going to die now_ was the calm realisation at the front of his consciousness and then he hit the tightly suspended awning of a stall below. Something in the frame broke and released the fabric canopy, dumping Ezio, bleeding and battered, on the street below. He lay still for a few moments, wondering why he wasn’t dead.

A few steps away, a moaning could be heard, and Ezio blinked dispassionately as he stared at the shadowy spectacle before him. The attacker had hit a cart of hay standing in the street and was now lying below the wagon, where the impact of the fall had deposited him when he fell through the bottom of the cart. The man squirmed slightly as he lay in Ezio’s line of vision, amazingly not dead yet. A pool of blood, looking like ink in the moonlight, spread under the broken cart.

Slowly and painfully the assassin picked himself up, nearly keeling over, disoriented. He heard voices in the street:

“He’s on the other side of the building.” “Make him suffer!” and “Go! Get him.”

Ezio sighed.


	2. Visitors

 

“Damn you, girl, would you stand still! What am I paying you for?” Leonardo gestured incredulously with his sketchbook at the young woman, her dress tied down around her hips. Her flowing, golden hair reached her waist and somehow neatly avoided hiding her round breasts.

“I have been standing like this for hours.” Detta yelled: “My arms will fall off if I have to do this much longer.” She wobbled her arms in exaggerated muscle spasms as she gave an angry shriek.

“It has not been hours, it has been a few moments! Every time you move, your hair and hands change.”

“That’s because I’m breathing!” Detta snapped.

“It’s not the breathing!” Leonardo raised his voice: “It’s because you are screaming like a cheap whore.”

“I.” she shouted, breaking out of the pose to grab an apple from a nearby table: “Am.” she aimed: “Not.” and threw the fruit at him, her naked breasts bobbing: “Cheap!”

The apple sailed through the air and Leonardo instinctively reached out for it, trying to hide his surprise when he caught it. Her aim was really improving; a fact he found slightly disconcerting.

“I know you aren’t cheap, Detta, as I am in fact paying you...” he said, putting the apple down casually on a nearby table. “Now stand still! I have to go out in a moment, so please; just cooperate.”

“…And it’ll all be over soon.” she scoffed: “I hear that a lot.” She arranged her hair and raised her arms anew. “You could at least fuck me… It’s weird that you don’t.”

Leonardo sat back down and worked fast, the scratch of the charcoal and quill the only sound, as he studied the pose and the way the candlelight, placed behind her to imitate the sunlight he imagined in the scene for the painting, shone off her hair.

“Don’t you find me beautiful? Is that why?” she asked quietly after a while, not breaking the pose.

“I use you as a model for holy women and goddesses... You are beautiful.” He commented absentmindedly as he worked.

Detta was quiet for a while; then she sighed gently: “What is this for, anyway?”

“Hm?”

“This stupid pose. What is it suppose to be.”

“A commission for-“ Leonardo caught himself and suddenly laughed: “...an allegorical piece on virtue.”

“Virtue? Why are my arms flapping in the air then? Is that your idea of virtue?”

“It’s an elegant, yet dramatic, devotional pose.”

“Why are my tits bare?”

“It’s for a monastery.” Leonardo laughed. “Now shut up, Virtue...”

Immersing himself in the work again he sighed when there was a knock on the door. Forcefully ignoring it, he continued working. Just when he thought the would-be guest had given up, a weak knock was heard.

Detta’s arms fell: “Well, go open it. Do you see any apprentices around? Or do you think I’m going to do it?”

Sending her an annoyed look, he put the drawings down and answered the door. In the half-light cast by the coloured lanterns suspended around the festive stalls on the small plaza outside, a figure was slumped against the wall, the white hood hiding his face. Everything about him indicated that he was about to collapse.

There was something about him that was completely off, but before Leonardo fully realised what it was, he felt a bubble of sudden laughter burst: “Ezio?” he asked in amused disbelief: “I thought you didn’t drink in public...” he grinned but then the mirth died when Ezio slowly turned towards him, the tenuous light shifted and Leonardo saw the blood on his pale face and the pained, feverish look in his eyes.

Leonardo reached out and Ezio stumbled forward, locking his arms around him, almost making the artist’s knees buckle with the sudden weight.

They stood for a heartbeat like that, then Leonardo realised that they might be in very real danger if whoever had caused this had followed the assassin and he quickly pulled the nearly unconscious man into the workshop, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Detta!” he called urgently, his eyes on Ezio, trying to spot where he might be wounded, as he pulled the assassin’s arm over his shoulder, supporting the stumbling man as he led him to a chair. Ezio let himself be deposited and Leonardo looked at him; felt the rapid, almost panicked pulse at the neck and the feverishly hot skin. Ezio’s eyes fell shut.

“Who is that?” Detta asked quietly.

Leonardo spun around and saw Detta take a step back: “I need hot water and the basket of bandages I keep under the window in the kitchen. Please.” Leonardo stated urgently.

She gave him a look like a cornered animal, standing for a moment frozen with apparent indecision; then she ran towards the door. Leonardo’s eyes narrowed and he turned his full attention to Ezio. But then he heard the bolt sliding into the doorframe as Detta locked them in and she hurried past towards the kitchen, fighting with the knot keeping the dress around her hips. Leonardo felt a warm stab of gratitude towards her, as his fingers fought to remove the assassin’s doublet.

There was a wound on Ezio’s shoulder, but it wasn’t severe enough to cause this kind of weakness. The fabric of the doublet had taken most of the damage and had acted as a bandage. There were a few cuts on the arms, Leonardo found after quickly cutting the shirt open with a nearby pen-knife: “What happened to you?” he asked as he worked. The only reply given was a weak shake of the head.

One cut on the arm had bitten quite deeply, the shirt sleeve soaked darkly with blood that was drying up, making the fabric feel stiff like paper under the artist’s fingers.

There were dark bruises forming on Ezio’s chest and sides but as Leonardo’s fingers quickly tested the stricken areas, nothing seemed broken and the assassin hardly reacted, his breathing shallow, his eyes half closed.

A gash on the side of Ezio’s knee had sliced the pants up, but the boots had taken much of the damage. There was a cut on his forehead, but though it bled a little it was neither deep nor serious.

Puzzled and worried, Leonardo suddenly realised, horrified, what was so different about Ezio. He felt like an idiot for not having grasped it earlier: the assassin was unarmed.

No sword, no knives, no hidden blades.

“Ezio!” he said “What has happened! Where are you wounded? Ezio!” he called as he realised that the man was unresponsive, slapping his face gently until the assassin opened his eyes again. Breath ragged and thin, it seemed he had to fight for every inhalation.

“Where are you wounded?” Leonardo asked again, his hands on Ezio’s face, forcing him to keep eye contact.

Ezio shook his head: “Poison.” he said; a look of sudden fury in his eyes.

There were running feet from the direction of the kitchen; Leonardo gently let Ezio sink back in the chair as Detta appeared. Her dress, though not exactly decent, covered her breasts again and her hair was held away from her face with a tight braid. She carried a pitcher and a small basket with bandages and clean cloth: “It’s cold water. I’m working on the hot.” she stated and retreated to the kitchen, casting long looks over her shoulder.

“Ezio?” Leonardo wrung the cloth with the cool, clear water and gently wiped the blood off his friend’s face: “How were you poisoned?” he asked.

“Leonardo...” Ezio said, still fighting to breathe. “I don’t want to... Combat is fine... But-” he faltered before forcing a gasping breath: “Don’t let me die like this.” He closed his fingers on Leonardo’s arm as if to emphasise the statement, the grip weak.

“I won’t. I promise you.” Leonardo said and Ezio fell back in the chair, his fevered eyes closing.

“Which unfortunately means that I cannot let you sleep until I know what happened to you.” Leonardo reached out to slap Ezio gently, but when the assassin’s eyes remained closed, the artist opted instead for grabbing the wounded shoulder. He felt guilty when Ezio opened his eyes with a pained gasp.

“Tell me what happened.” Leonardo insisted.

“A woman.” Ezio said and the quick grin on his face was quickly wiped off when he gasped for breath.

“Irresistibly lovely, of course...” Leonardo commented. “What did she do?”

“Took... my weapons... I let her.” He snarled and tried to push Leonardo away and get up: “She said I’d be dead by morning.” he said as they struggled: “I will kill her before then...” he said and then fell back in the chair gasping for breath.

“Look at me!” Leonardo demanded, feeling the frantic heartbeat under his hands as he held his friend down: “You won’t die. But you have to relax and explain what happened.” he said urgently.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Detta approach with a basin of hot water. She put it down on a nearby table: “That’s a lot of blood.” she said, unusually subdued.

“I need you to do me a favour, Detta.” Leonardo said and saw her nod: “I need you to go and fetch a... friend of mine, Aurelio Augurello. His house is in the eastern part of Santa Croce, just by the San Giacomo dall'Orio church. The facade of his house is yellow with a frieze of blue acanthus leaves. You can’t miss it-“ he stopped himself at the nonplussed look in her face.

“The house what?” she asked.

“The house has a broad stripe of blue flowers above the entrance from the street...” he explained leading her towards the door: “Go there, demand to see Signore Augurello and tell him that I have been poisoned and that I need his help.”

“That _you_ have been poisoned? But-“

“Please, just do it. He will try to get you to talk, but just tell him that you don’t know anything more. Please, Detta. I can’t leave him.” he said, gesturing towards Ezio who was half collapsed again, still struggling to breathe as he stared feverishly at the ceiling.

“Signore Augurello. In Santa Croce by San Giacomo. Yellow house with blue flowers.” Detta repeated.

“You queen among women!” Leonardo stated, holding the door for her as she slipped out, giving him a smile as she wrapped her shawl around her slim shoulders: “I’ll hurry.” was the last comment he heard from her before she disappeared down the street and he shut and re-bolted the door.

“Ezio!” he called at the sight of his friend slumping in the chair. “Tell me about the woman who did this.” Leonardo said as he splashed some cold water in Ezio’s face: “Stay alert.”

It was like watching a drowning man struggling to the surface, fighting for every gasp of air.

“How did she poison you?” Leonardo asked as he started cleaning the wound on the shoulder, not gently, hoping the pain would keep his friend awake.

“Some powder first. Bitter tasting. Like this.” Ezio held up his hand weakly and mimed blowing on his palm. Then he winced at the pain to his shoulder as the wound was cleaned and smeared with ointment. “And later...” he struggled: “She... cut me. She could have hurt me. But she only cut my arm.” He had to stop to catch his tenuous breath and his eyes half closed again, his head tilting towards his chest.

“I’m going to stitch this up.” Leonardo put pressure on the shoulder with one hand as the other rummaged in the basked for needle and thread. “Maybe I should mix the burdock salve with lemon juice and salt to keep you awake?” he added.

“If I die here, please...” the assassin began.

“You are not dying here!” Leonardo interjected with emphasis.

“...Then don’t put me on the table and cut my corpse up.” Ezio struggled to sit up straight and hold Leonardo’s horrified gaze. Then a grin broke through on assassin’s lips.  Leonardo swiftly slapped the back of Ezio’s head before he weakly collapsed back in the chair, gasping for breath.

Shaking his head in disbelief while trying to hide his smile, Leonardo held the wound close as he started stitching.

“That woman...” Ezio said, wincing at the pain as the thread was pulled through his flesh.

“Yes. Why did she poison you?”

“No. Not her.” He drew a ragged breath, slumping forward again. Leonardo put a hand on his chest to push him back in the chair. “The blond girl. Here.”  Ezio continued.

“Bernadetta.” Leonardo said. “What about her?” He continued stitching the wound up neatly.

“She was naked.”

“You are definitely not dying.” The needle travelled through the last bit of shoulder-flesh and the knot was tightened. Jaw muscles clenched as Ezio ground his teeth against the sting.

“The woman who poisoned you; you said she attacked you after she blew powder in your face?” 

Ezio nodded slowly, raising his arm. “It felt like being drunk. And blinded. Then she cut me.” The wound on his arm gaped and started bleeding again as he gestured with it. “I think I hit her. But she... ran and...” he wheezed for breath again, pulse quickening in anger: “...she had those people standing ready. ...Said it had to take time.”

“Take time?” Leonardo quickly dipped the cloth in cold water, twisted it dry and put it on Ezio’s forehead, holding him down: “Relax. You will live to resolve this. But you have to calm down.” he said softly. “Now tell me what she said?”

“She said... that... their names were Arlo and... Taddeo?” Ezio frowned: “I think... Arlo and Taddeo.”

Leonardo felt one eyebrow climb as he wondered if a lack of breath had finally pushed his friend into a delirium. “And who are they?” he finally asked.

“I don’t know. I didn’t understand.” Ezio raised his head and held Leonardo’s gaze with an effort: “Her name is Mette. Foreigner. From the north. Red curls. Wolf eyes. Silvery. ...Pale. She said that they were named Taddeo and Arlo and that their mother loved them! You have to help me find her. And don’t look at me that way, as if you think I am mad. I will-“

He stopped, again fighting to draw breath, agitated. Leonardo watched helplessly as he tried to ease the pain of the attack by cooling down Ezio’s feverish skin with the cold cloth.

 “I don’t think you are madder than usual...” the artist lied. “Is there anything you can tell me about these people, Arlo and Taddeo?” he asked, puzzled, a feeling of recognition sneaking up on him as if he had heard the names before. He searched his memory but nothing came to mind and frowning, he put the cloth back on the table, scratching the names in the margin of a notebook.

“I have never heard of them. I don’t know.” Ezio said quietly.

“But their mother loved them?”

“That is what she said.”

“It sounds like you have found yourself on the wrong end of your own profession, doesn’t it...” Leonardo said.

“She was far too young to have grown children. And I have never killed a child. Never!”

“I know. I know.” Leonardo said, gently pushing Ezio back in the chair. “But that means that this woman; Mette, was it?”

Ezio nodded.

“...Maybe she works for the loving mother? Have you killed anyone whose name you didn’t know? Brothers presumably?” Leonardo continued as he studied the cut on Ezio’s lower arm.

“Brothers, I don’t know. But I have killed unknown people sometimes; when it has been unavoidable.” Ezio mumbled.

“But recently?” Leonardo enquired.

“Five in the last few hours...” the assassin commented wearily. “The three in the house... The others... They attacked... I...” his voice trailed off and his eyes closed as he tried to control his breath.

Leonardo found himself at a loss for what to say. Sometimes the gap between what was acceptable in their lives staggered him and he shook his head as if to dislodge this feeling of distance between them and turned his attention instead to the cut on Ezio’s arm. It was fairly deep. The knife must have been very sharp. Even though it had bled furiously a small trace of a dark, oily substance was smeared on the skin and he gently wiped it off with a corner of the cloth, frowning.

The substance was odourless when he sniffed it and Leonardo put the cloth away, picking up the rag of the shirt Ezio had worn. A small amount of the dark poison was on the sleeve where the knife had bit through the fabric. It looked as if the poison itself had been ground with a colourless oil, almost like a pigment for painting.

He put both items aside. Aurelio would know what to do; his knowledge of medicines, poisons and their alchemical relationships was extensive. But Leonardo found himself silently praying that it wasn’t too late as he watched Ezio, pale, slumped, fighting for every breath.

“I’m sorry, Leonardo.” Ezio finally said as the artist started cleaning the cut on his arm. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“A few years ago you told me that peace was not the opposite of interesting...” Leonardo grinned: “I think I agree. So I am reconciled with you making my life exciting. And never again apologise for calling on me when you need me!” he said and then his pulse jumped suddenly when there was a firm and precise knock on the door. He put a steadying hand on Ezio’s good shoulder: “Relax, I asked a friend here to help you.” he said and hurried to the door, drawing a deep, steadying breath before opening.

The full force of Aurelio’s razor sharp stare hit Leonardo the moment the door opened. The severity of the black cloak, the dark eyebrows frowning, the silver stripe in his black hair and the tension of passionate anger held carefully under control nearly pushed Leonardo a step backwards, and he had to force himself to stand his ground.

“I am going to assume that this is some sort of amusing carnival trick that you have concocted, because, and I am really not overwhelmingly surprised, you do not appear particularly ill... Did I somehow misinterpret the situation, Leonardo?” Aurelio stated, crossing his arms.

“I’m sorry for the deception.” Leonardo stepped aside quietly and gestured for Aurelio to come in: “Please. Let me explain? You know there is always a reason.”

Behind Aurelio, Leonardo spotted Detta standing with a bulky, heavy bag, looking flustered.

“I should certainly hope that you have a reason for sending a loud-mouthed whore to lure me away from my own party under false pretences.” he stated tautly, and crossed the threshold to the workshop with something akin to dislike on his sharp, aquiline features.

The eyes were darker than Leonardo remembered and Aurelio’s presence was quite imposing as he moved closer, the velvet of the heavy cloak whispering softly around him: “Now I wonder...” he continued: “What do you hope to gain!”

Leonardo made no reply, but turned his head to look at Ezio, Aurelio following his gaze. Ezio was slumped in the chair; his head cast back, seeming like a dead man if not for the occasional pained gasp for breath.

“I need your help.” Leonardo said, watching as the stern eyes took in the sight and Aurelio’s expression changed to stone.

“I see.” he simply stated. “You felt impelled to lie to me, again, in order to secure my assistance for someone else. How perfectly you.“ he suddenly whirled towards Detta who was easing the bag to the floor: “How many times do I have to tell you to be careful with that, you silly strumpet, there are live specimens in it.” he snapped.

“You know...” Detta smiled sweetly: “Why don’t you tell me a few more times!” she pushed a lock of  dishevelled hair out of her eyes: “Because-“ she pointed at Leonardo, her voice gradually rising: “He is paying me for every single one of your insults, and compensating me on top of that for all the money I could have made on a carnival night if I was not running errands like a servant and carrying the luggage of an angry old blackbird.” the sentence ended in a scream and she pulled the shawl around her shoulders and stomped off to the kitchen, slamming the door.

Both men looked after her, silent for a heartbeat. Then Leonardo sighed: “Would you have come if you had known the truth?”

“No. But do not for a moment tell yourself that this justifies your action.”

“He is my friend. He is dying. I can’t help him. You can.” Leonardo said as he held the irate, black gaze.

“But why in the world would I do that?”

Leonardo gave a mirthless laugh: “Aurelio... Stop it.” He held out his arm demandingly: “Give me your cloak. You are staying and we both know it.”

The black eyes narrowed dangerously, but the older man held his tongue and settled for a scowl.

“You are here,” Leonardo continued: “...and you are not going to let a man die when you can prevent it. Regardless of what’s between us. I know you.”

Aurelio took a few steps, bringing them close enough to feel each other’s breath: “Would you do the same for me?” he asked, the anger just below the surface mixed with curiosity.

“That depends entirely on your actions in the next few moments.” Leonardo stated.

“That is extortion, you bastard son of a notary!” Aurelio exclaimed vehemently; but under the angry glare Leonardo recognised a softening, a teetering on the edge of enjoyment. He smiled triumphantly and caught Aurelio’s cloak as it was irritably thrown at him.

“What happened to him!” Aurelio demanded as he crossed to Ezio’s prone figure.

“He was poisoned. I don’t know with what. First the woman who attacked him blew some powder in his face; then cut his arm with a poisoned blade, as I understand it. There is some residue of the poison on his shirt.” the artist explained as he quickly put the cloak on a chair and hurried to Ezio’s side: “I’ve kept him awake. I didn’t dare to let him sleep. I hope I did the right thing.” he said.

“Sounds reasonable.” Aurelio nodded before leaning closer and gently turning Ezio’s face towards the light. “Look at me, young man, if you please. A woman did this?” Aurelio asked,

 “Yes. A woman.” Ezio finally responded.

“You seem to be in fairly decent shape, so I will assume this is not your normal heart rate.” Aurelio stated dryly.

“Listen... Old man...” Ezio began.

“How is your vision?” Aurelio continued.

“Moving more than usual.”

“Dry mouth? Thirsty?”

Ezio slowly turned his gaze to Leonardo: “Is he asking me out for a drink?”

Leonardo smiled.

“I’m glad to see that you are not as dense as you look, young man.” Aurelio gently padded Ezio’s cheek: “Must be all the healthy bloodletting you seem to enjoy.”

Ezio made no reply, his head tilting back, eyes closing.

“So, have you any idea what it is? The poison?” Leonardo asked.

“Dilated pupils, wild heart rate, difficulty breathing, female culprit... My best guess right now is a heavy dose of nightshade. Quite a feminine poison... But I’m not certain. It could be other substances and the problem is that what potentially cures him if it is nightshade potentially kills him if it’s not.” Aurelio shrugged as he started unpacking a host of different vials and jars from his bag: “I’m assuming our wounded bird of prey here would not welcome the intervention of any authorities?”

Leonardo nodded slowly: “He wouldn’t...” he stated and then shook his head: “I mean, that would be a little much.”

“I’m certain it would...” Aurelio agreed dryly. “But then unless you yourself are going to find the woman who did this and ask her politely for information or an antidote; well... I will do what I can for him, but I’m afraid you will just have to watch and help me keep him conscious.”

“...To find her.” Leonardo said, his body standing still, his mind working frantically. Then he hurried to a shelf in the crowded workshop where he rummaged through sketches, scrolls and notes before he found the stack of invitations. Some had been sent; some had been given when he had visited with patrons and clients; he had even been cornered while at church and given one of the invitations by the giggling Morosini sisters.

“You are not seriously contemplating actually running off into the night to search for a murderous woman with poison on her knife!” Aurelio stated forcefully.

Leonardo just grinned: “You haven’t heard of someone named Arlo and Taddeo, have you?”

“No,” Aurelio snapped. “...but If they are anything like your scarred Muse of Conflict here, they must be thugs. Leonardo!”

The artist paid his conscious guest no mind as he leafed through the invitations and finally found the perfect inspiration. Jacobo Pasqualigo, captain of the city guards...

In Leonardo’s mind, he saw the possibilities of actions and counteractions stretching out before him like a river delta to be navigated. He studied the vista of potential situations. First he had to make certain that the woman didn’t leave the city. If she was a stranger, she would be less likely to be anchored to any place within the confines of the city, and she might try to flee.

His mind flitted and jumped quickly from one scenario to the next and he speedily threw on his doublet and cloak and started packing a few essentials for what he expected would be a long night.


	3. Parties

 

Leonardo still felt the unease and urgency of the situation in his body, the necessity of getting through the pleasantries as quickly as possible. He gently placed the key to the wheellock mechanism on the table and raised the loaded pistol. The snarling lion-mask that had covered his face was lying next to the horn of gunpowder and the scouring stick.

He had been trying very hard not to be too fretful and rude or show some other anxious sign of impatience when he had been scouting through the other guests for the host. He had been worried, that finding the man would be difficult at a party where masks were mandatory. His fears proved exaggerated, though, when his host turned out to be wearing a mask that let his red beard show.

Leonardo let his shoulders relax and pushed everything from his mind but the targets, three clay bottles, that stood prodded up on a row of ornamental stone waves decorating the wall at the far end of the garden, generously lit by numerous lanterns in the fragrant, blooming lemon-trees. He aimed for the side of the bottle furthest on the right, expecting momentum to spin it when it broke.

The weight of the pistol felt familiar in his hand. He had fired it so many times that he had almost lost count, back when he was testing his newly build toy; trying to find out how much use it took to jam the mechanism, how often it had to be cleaned and which types of metals were best for the spring and the wheel, to prolong the life of the firing mechanism.

“Notice the reload time...” he said and calmly took the shot. The bottle shattered, and clay shrapnel spun to knock the middle bottle to the ground with a crisp smash. Leonardo quickly reloaded the gun, pouring in the powder charge, bullet and wadding and ramming it into the barrel with the routine of a seasoned soldier. Trying hard to keep a smug smile off his lips, reminding himself not to enjoy this when his friend lay dying, he used the key to wind up the spring, primed the mechanism and calmly fired the second shot. The last bottle shattered.

Leonardo turned to his host and handed him the pistol, handle first. Jacobo Pasqualigo, captain of the city’s official guard force, took the weapon, a reluctant smile spreading on his face.

“Handy, isn’t it?” Leonardo asked. “The mechanism produces its own spark, so it can be primed in advance and needs no cumbersome match string. It is light, easily carried. At the moment, it is the only one in existence; but more can be produced, for a modest fee, of course.”

Pasqualigo tuned the weapon over in his hands: “I hate this masked party nonsense.” he finally mused in his deep voice, gesturing at the mask he had worn: “But this just brightened my evening!” he stated: “So... What do you want?”

Leonardo smiled, thankful for the direct approach: “I need a favour. I have been robbed of something quite vital, and I need what was stolen returned to me. ” he lied smoothly. “I didn’t know where else to turn. And this,” he nodded at the gun, “was my best idea for pleading with you to lend me the expertise of some of your people.”

“Robbed, eh? What was stolen?”

“Design schematics for an item, paid for by a prestigious client who would not be pleased to know that it had been lost or possibly duplicated.” Leonardo said quietly. “The woman who stole it is quite dangerous, and even managed to wound an associate of mine from out of town.” Deep in his mind, he felt appalled at the necessity for dishonesty. It was one thing to trick Aurelio into helping him, that would eventually be forgiven, but commandeering the city guard with bribery and deception... But then, in his mind’s eye, he saw Ezio, pale, pained, struggling to keep breathing...

“I can’t lose this!” Leonardo stated: “I will be forever in your debt if you can assist me.”

“You know... I remember when you were here to make the sketches for my wife’s portrait.”

“...I hope you are satisfied with the result?” Leonardo asked, not quite certain where Pasqualigo was going.

The captain made a dismissive sound: “She tells me you are popular and that portraits are necessary. I care little.  But for this...” he turned the weapon over in his hands. “I will happily give you what you ask for.” He suddenly laughed loudly and slapped Leonardo’s shoulder: “And I had heard that you were a girly, squeamish pacifist who would only eat vegetables, and then you create weapons like this... I think I need to have a word with my informants.” he boomed.

 

o-O-o

 

Satisfied with his progress so far, Leonardo hurried through the crowded streets of the inner city. He wore his mask. The snarling lion-mask he had created to fit his own face. He has fashioned it to be fierce but had been surprised at the level of success, at the look of vicious ferocity it had taken on when he wore it. The great cat aggressive, about to pounce. He had been looking forward to using the mask, mostly because nobody else had anything like it, but now it seemed to be almost too angry for comfort, and he wondered briefly, as a woman gave him an alarmed look from behind her own pretty cat’s mask, whether this was what it felt like to be Ezio, hood over his face, threatening like a lead-grey storm cloud.

He had seen Pasqualigo send the runners out and had been presented with an officer of the guard who would act as his contact. The city’s port officials were informed not to let a foreign woman with red hair and pale eyes book a ship to leave the city by conventional means and the guards of the city were being instructed to keep an eye out for her.

Leonardo had requested that the guards try to warn the gondoliere too and even posted a generous reward for the woman’s capture. He knew that the gondoliere had a frighteningly efficient system for exchanging knowledge, and that the promise of florins would travel fast through the city.  He secretly looked forward to telling Ezio to hand the money over in case someone could actually claim the reward. Assuming that Ezio lived to enjoy growing a little poorer, Leonardo reminded himself, quickening his pace. Feeling as though he was swimming through a sea of masks, he felt a sudden hopelessness gnawing at him. What were the chances of finding this woman in a city where everyone wore masks... He quickly pushed this disheartening thought from his mind and concentrated on the task ahead.

He had told the contact Pasqualigo had made available to him, that he would be going the guild hall of the Brotherhood of Painters, just in case they needed to find him if Fortuna should decide to smile on him and let the guards located the woman.

He felt both relieved at having the extra eyes and ears, but also slightly alarmed. He knew there was a risk that someone might go in search of him and go to his home; that the chain of information could be broken and that someone might recognize Ezio. But then he imagined being forced to just sit still and watch as his friend struggled to live and found that he would rather take the chance of discovery, than live with the helplessness or the knowledge that he had done nothing.

He turned the corner, reaching the street in San Polo where the guild hall was situated. He could hear the music streaming from the house and saw that the party had spilled into the street, as though the house was as drunk as the partiers and had expelled groups of his fellow craftsmen into the street. He stood still in the shadows cast by braziers illuminating the street shakily, his heart sinking.

Of all the nights he could have needed their help...

Leonardo shook his head, sternly reprimanding himself for not having considered the practical consequences of the citywide festival. Gathering his patience he removed his mask and pushed his way inside through the talking, singing, laughing and shouting crowds of guild brothers. Inside the hall, he was nearly overwhelmed by the stuffy, noisy atmosphere.

The spacious guild hall where councils and meetings were held, judgments pronounced and works exhibited, were now lined with tables piled with food and drink. The hall was full of partiers and Leonardo guessed that the party had started early judging from the level of drunkenness displayed by most of those present. There were several groups of musicians scattered around the hall, each playing their own tunes which created a phonetic chaos that grated on the artist’s nerves. As he looked around, he saw that there was even a casual amount of women present, though most seemed to be in the same line of work as Detta.

He quickly scanned the crowd, hoping to spot someone not as drunk as the majority. At a desk, just inside the main hall, a man was seated, having a conversation with someone who seemed to be able to stand without leaning on anything. Leonardo made his way there while he leafed through his roll of invitations until he found the right one.

“You new?” the man at the desk enquired over the din of revellers.

“Yes.” Leonardo handed him the slip of paper: “I need some information from someone who paints epitaphs.” he said.

“What? You need a gravestone?” the man said, looking from Leonardo, to the invitation and back again uncomprehendingly. His companion at the desk loomed closer, interrupting: “You are familiar...” he mused: “Aren’t you Leonardo from Toscana... who thinks man can learn to fly?”

Leonardo felt the sudden annoyance tug at his features, but he clenched his teeth and settled for nodding, promising himself to be more careful with where he left his notes in the future. The man at the desk laughed and padded his shoulder in mock sympathy: “Don’t worry, you are not a bad portrait painter I hear. I’m sure your obsession with impossible machinery won’t prove too much of a detriment to a decent career. So, what did you need?” he grinned.

 _...To code my notes and learn to keep quiet_! Leonardo thought. Aloud he said: “I need information. I’m looking for two dead gentlemen, Taddeo and Arlo. I need to see if anyone here has knowledge of them. Maybe someone who was commissioned to paint their grave stone or sculpt an epitaph...” he said, and had to sidestep a drunken group passing by, nearly sloshing his orange doublet with wine in the process.

The two men at the desk looked at each other; then the man who was seated asked: “You have a workshop down by the Rialto, don’t you? At San Giacometo?”

“Yes? Look, can you assist me or not?” Leonardo stated.

“We are; we are assisting...” the other man interjected: “What my friend here is asking is why you come _here_ for information on the Solario-brothers?”

“Solario? Arlo and Taddeo Solario?” Leonardo enquired, a feeling of recognition again pouncing on him.

“Where were you the Sunday before this one?” The seated man asked.

“At home...” Leonardo said, allowing himself a brief daydream about how much simpler life would be in situations like this one for someone of Ezio’s profession.

“Practising your flying, no doubt, if you managed to overhear the funeral parade. ...No expenses spared; music, mourners, more velvet and silver than you could shake a wing at. They even had the old Donna Solario riding a wagon in the front, tossing coins at the crowds all the way to the San Silvestro church.”

“Yes.” the other man chimed in: “Just because her sons were simply private guardsmen, apparently that doesn’t mean she couldn’t see them off from this world in style.”

“Donna Solario?” Leonardo vaguely associated a stern, elderly lady in a dark and severe dress with the name. Searching in his mind, he found that she belonged to a house just behind his workshop on the other side of the small plaza.

“I think he just remembered.” The man behind the desk commented laughingly.

“Thank you. You have both been very irksomely obliging.” Leonardo gave them both a quick bow and speedily left the guild hall, replacing the mask over his face.

 

o-O-o

 

As he hurried through the streets, Leonardo found that he was biting his tongue to prevent himself from swearing under his breath. Looking back to the Sunday before last he vaguely remembered having heard a commotion from the street outside, but he had been so absorbed in the drawings for a suspension bridge that he had even skipped church; though he had to admit to himself that this was partly in fear of getting cornered by the Morosini sisters again. He shook his head as he hurried along, scolding himself for not having recognised the names earlier, for not having had the sense to know what was going on right outside his own door and for having somehow managed to let the casual notes he had made on the subject of flight get out of his hands.

It was past midnight now and masks were worn more casually. There were still many people in the streets, but when he reached the street behind his home, he caught a glimpse of the small plaza when he looked down the narrow lane. The stalls were closed, except for the two that served refreshments. Several tables were placed in the plaza and people were seated, talking, laughing, enjoying a drink; most having left their masks on the tabletop, the different designs of costumes and decorations shone under the coloured lanterns. A musician was sitting by one of the stalls, playing a soft tune on a shawm.

Images of Ezio stalked Leonardo’s mind rekindling the sense of dire urgency and, envious of the revellers relaxing with a drink, he turned to what he guessed was the Solario house.

Keeping his head down as he loosened the mask, Leonardo knocked on the door. It was a long silence. He leaned towards the door, listening but hearing nothing; then he took some steps back, to study the facade. There was a brief flicker of a lamp moving in a window on the first floor and after a while he heard soft footfalls on the other side. The door opened, and a mousey servant woman holding a lamp gave him a questioning stare. Her eyes were tired and it seemed she had been crying recently.

“I’m sorry to disturb...” Leonardo said. The woman gave a little nod, but didn’t answer.

“I need to speak with Donna Solario. I know this is an awkward time, but-“ he caught himself at the quiver of the young woman’s lips.

“I’m sorry, but the mistress joined her sons in Heaven just yesterday morning, messere.” The woman sniffed.

“She’s dead?” Leonardo asked pointlessly, the vista of possible reasons and solutions shifting before his inner eye. The woman nodded a goodnight to him and made to close the door.

“Please, I’m very sorry...” Leonardo said quickly, putting a hand on the door: “I need some information. Have you seen a foreign woman here? With red hair and pale eyes?”

The servant woman hesitated: “Signorina Settentriona? She was here visiting the mistress in her grief and just the day before the mistress died.”

“Settentriona? From the north...” Leonardo mused: “Do you know how I might find her?” he hurried to add.

The woman looked a little perturbed at this: “The mistress sent my husband out with a note to her a few days ago. To a taverna in Cannaregio called Il Covo down by the foundry. The barkeep there can contact her.”

The woman made a gesture as if about to close the door.

“Please, I need to know what happened to Donna Solario’s sons; Arlo and Taddeo?”

“They were both murdered when the White Assassino broke into Palazzo Barbarigo while they were on guard duty. The mistress was told they gave chase and almost caught him, when...” She stopped and her lips pressed together as she noticeably tried to control her emotions. “Now please, messere, it is late...” she finally said, pleadingly, and slowly closed the door.

Leonardo stood alone on the steps to the house, taking a moment to rest his forehead against the closed door. He felt humbled by the woman’s sorrow and told himself several times that Ezio must have been forced; must have seen no other way out, the guards standing in his way, doing their duty. Doing what they were paid and obligated to do.

“There must have been a reason!” he whispered fervently to himself, as he left the house, his feet taking him in the direction of the foundry in Cannaregio. “There must have been a reason...”

 

o-O-o

 

Leonardo had spent a moment in the shadows, simply studying the taverna. It was undoubtedly the seediest place he had ever been near, even including the one or two extremely dodgy establishments he had visited in Firenze while still an apprentice. He gave the shadows up when a lady of the night dragged a staggering customer there and began earning her wages.

In the short time Leonardo had spent studying the place he had seen several fights break out, the contents of several stomachs emptied in the muddy street outside and more than enough sagging and exposed skin, feminine and otherwise.

He had once heard a story of elephants, detailing that they all found their way to the same spot when it was time to die and Leonardo speculated that Il Covo was where courtesans and drunkards went when their career was nearly over. Shuddering at the thought, he made his way inside. This part of the city was less interested in the finery and imagination of masks and costumes, and more interested in the celebration of being alive in the present.

The inside of the taverna was lit by a fireplace and grimy lanterns hanging from the roof beams. The numerous patrons were stuffed into a narrow, oblong area running along the bar, ending in a wider space in which a fight was taking place, the shouts and cheering echoing through the crowds inside. Leonardo dislodged himself from the attention of two harlots who had been guarding the door, ready to pounce, by simply removing their hands from his person and ignoring them as he made his way to the bar. He felt grateful for having hidden the majority of the money he had brought with him in a pocket under his doublet, considering that different hands in the crowd had already been groping for the money in his belt.

The innkeeper was surly, enormous and had obviously used his face to weather blows on more than one occasion, judging by the scars. He gave Leonardo a glance down a shapeless nose: “What do you need?” he growled.

“To speak to la Settentriona.” Leonardo stated and watched as a sly fire lit in the man’s dull eyes.

“Who told you I know anyone by that name?”

“I don’t have time for this... Can you help?” Leonardo asked coldly and held up a coin: “Or do I bribe someone else?”

 

o-O-o

 

Leonardo felt a rush of gratification as he very carefully leaned in and looked through the window into a small, two-room apartment, catching a glimpse of a red mane of hair, shining in the candlelight. The young woman was pacing back and forth, the generous folds of her green dress swishing about her as she shouted angrily in a language Leonardo didn’t recognise, her heels clicking furiously across the floorboards. A man stood with his back to the window, near the door, his entire posture indicating anger.

Settling for just listening, Leonardo crouched down very carefully so as not to slip on the clay tiles of the overhang roof he stood on. The ladder he had borrowed from a small orange-tree garden around the corner stood close by, but Leonardo was painfully aware that he would be in trouble getting down again quickly if someone should discover him.

Back at the taverna, Leonardo had considered that the barkeep of Il Covo might have him robbed blind, beaten up, thrown out or anything in between. He had not considered for a moment that he might be recognised by the man as a friend of Ezio’s. The question “Hang on, haven’t I seen you with the Assassino?” was quite a surprise but not as much as being hailed as the greatest inventor of weapons in all Italia and slapped on the shoulder by an enthusiastic barkeep who told him that a friend of a friend was always welcome and freely gave the needed information. The rest had been easy, and he had found the house without incident but in the back of his mind, Leonardo kept asking himself in an alarmed tone of inner voice, where and how he could have been seen by the barkeep in Ezio’s company.

The house was located in Cannaregio not too far from the Rialto; not nearly as seamy a part of the city as the one where Il Covo was located. Inside the apartment, Leonardo heard the heels stop pacing and the woman changed back to Italian although she still carried an accent of her own language when she shouted: “...And how the hell can you blame _me_ for your incompetence. I fucking poisoned the man. Twice! I did my part. And your drunk and moronic people just weren’t even good enough to-“

“You can insult me, but don’t you dare speak ill of the men you got killed today!” the man interrupted furiously: “You said this would be easy. And you said it wouldn’t happen before much later. What the fuck kind of planning was that. You couldn’t even-“

“How was I supposed to know that any twist of skirt would attract him like an insect to a candle!” she shouted: “He found me, what was I supposed to d-“

“You were supposed to stick to the plan. I should have just let you deal with him yourself-“

“Oh, please, your people were supposed to keep me apprised of his movements. They failed. And you almost make it sound as if your idiot-brigade mattered. These last few hours I have tried to leave the city and been stopped at the port, been stopped by a gondolier and a handful of city guards were trying to follow me... So whatever the hell is going on, you have it easy, you coward!“

“What did you call me!”

Leonardo, driven by curiosity, carefully sneaked a peek through the window. The woman was in profile, her pretty face animated by anger, cheeks flushed, eyes flashing. The man was tall, broad, wearing a padded jerkin and a small armoury worth of weapons. A soldier of some sort, Leonardo thought, and the way the man’s fists clenched and eyes narrowed made Leonardo wonder what he would do if the foreign woman got herself killed before he could get to her.

She moved so close to the man that Leonardo guessed they could feel each other’s breath on their faces: “I called you a coward.” she said very slowly: “You whine, instead of doing the job you were hired to do. You let Auditore escape!”

The man clenched his teeth, the battle going on in his mind written clearly on his features.

“Well?” The woman asked. Leonardo saw a slight twitch of her hand, hidden from the man’s view in the folds of her skirt. A small blade, curving around her fingers, was slid out from under her embroidered belt.

“I do not kill women. Even if they deserve it.” the soldier finally said curtly. “Good luck getting out of the city, bitch.” He angrily turned on his heel and left the small apartment, slamming the door. The woman screamed in frustration and kicked a daybed standing against the wall, causing it to slide across the floor. Then she sighed, obviously trying to calm herself and started turning towards the window as she expertly replaced the knife under her belt.

Realising that she might be heading for a breath of fresh air, Leonardo made his way across the overhang roof and descended the rickety ladder as quickly as he dared and had just tipped the ladder out of sight from upstairs when he heard the window open. Feeling as if she must certainly be able to hear his heartbeat, he stood in the shadows under the narrow roof.

After a while there was a protracted sigh from above and then he heard her mumble something in her native language. It was a while before he heard the clink of the window closing and the latch being flipped to lock it. Leonardo waited a moment before he slowly put the ladder down and then snuck out of the small yard and around the house.

He was at the street level door before he knew it.  It wasn’t locked and he made his way up the stairs, treading lightly, closest to the wall where the wooden planks creaked the least. Most of the other apartments were silent. His heart was beating fast in equal parts anticipation and fear and he suddenly found himself doubting the sanity of his endeavour.

When he finally stood before the door to the small apartment, his mind was jumping frantically from one approach to the next. Somehow, he had allowed himself to think that everything would be obvious if he made it this far. Should he try to trick her? Would she fall for that? Should he try to use force? He scoffed at himself in his mind at this solution. Should he try to reason with her? Was that even possible with an angry and armed woman? While he was standing in the dark letting his mind debate the issue, he suddenly found himself knocking on the door.

 _I’m going to try to reason with her._ Leonardo thought.

There were angry stomping footsteps on the other side: “What now! I swear, I will ki-“ She stopped herself midsentence, the silver-pale eyes narrowing: “Who are you!” she demanded.

“My name is Leonardo... I... need to speak to you.”

“I’m very certain I’m not who you think I am. Goodnight!” she said and started closing the door.

“Mette!” Leonardo said urgently, putting a foot over the threshold. “Please. I need to speak to you about the wishes of the late Donna Solario.”

“I see...” she said slowly, giving him a suspicious look. Then a small smile found its way to the corner of her mouth and her shoulders made a sensuous little motion that let him view a little more of her pale breasts: “That’s different then.” she said softly.

As she stepped back, letting him enter, Leonardo noticed her hand furtively sliding by her belt and hiding in the folds of her dress. He slowly closed the door behind him, holding Mette’s gaze as he did so; his pulse so fast he felt the steady drumbeat in his entire body. Then he took a quick step closer to her and struck her cheek and nose with a clenched fist.

Gasping, Mette stumbled backwards, lifting her arm to protect her face as she fell against the wall by the window.

One part of Leonardo’s mind was simply a spectator, gasping in horror at what he was doing as the other part steered him forward, drew the slender dagger he carried and quickly cut the woman’s lower arm, drawing blood. Then he scrambled backwards, appalled at his own deed, just as Mette’s eyes met his. There was a kind of madness in her gaze made even more intense by the blood streaming from her nose and down her pale lips and breasts. The small blade flashed in her hand.

“No. Stop. Please! I’m really sorry I had to-” Leonardo held out a hand as she jumped towards him, slashing out at his face with a furious scream. Panicked, he raised his arm, feeling the blade bite into the thick leather bracer he wore under the doublet. He had brought it partly out of prudence and partly because it prevented his clothes from singeing with the expelled gunpowder when he used the wheel lock pistol. Frantically scrabbling to get out of the way of her rage, Leonardo yelled: “Don’t! The poison will spread faster when you move like that.”

Ignoring him, she changed her tactic, slashing low instead and it was all he could do to keep her at bay.

“I don’t want you dead.” Leonardo shouted urgently and finally managed to push her away a few steps while he dodged and parried her slashes: “I’m sorry! You have to listen!” he yelled, surprised to see her stop, panting, and retreat slowly, knife raised. The look in her eyes shifted back and forth from rage to dread.

“Please, listen.” Leonardo said, breathless, and slowly sheathed the dagger. Then he held up both hands in what he hoped was a soothing gesture as he pressed his back to the door: “You poisoned my friend. All I want is a cure for him. I don’t want to hurt you. I really don’t want anyone dead. But I need the antidote; and so do you now. So we must talk.”

“What makes you think there is an antidote?” She laughed, tauntingly.

“Hope.” Leonardo said quietly, shrugging a little. “Ezio is my best friend. I love him. I cannot lose him.”

He watched as her gaze shifted to the wound on her arm; watched the awful realisation in her features: “...And then you will let me go. I don’t believe you.” she finally said.

“You will give me the antidote to cure my friend...” Leonardo said calmly. “All I need is for you to come with me and give the antidote to Ezio. When he is well again, I will give you the antidote to the poison in your system and let you leave. I swear it.”

She gave a bitter laugh: “Of course you do. I’m not going to let you imprison me so Auditore can kill me. What sort of a world do you live in...”

“Forgive me, but I don’t quite trust you to hand over the real antidote. Ezio will listen to me. He won’t pursue you if I ask him not to.”

“No. I don’t trust you.” Mette tiredly sat down and slowly wiped the blood off her face with her sleeve; studying the cut on her arm tentatively, a scared look in her eyes.

“Please.” Leonardo found himself pleading: “Please. I am very sorry that I attacked you, but it was the shortest way to making you listen to me. It’s the only way I can be certain you will give me the right antidote.”

She gave him a harsh stare: “That man is filth. He is nothing but a murderer. And you are his friend.”

“He has his faults.” Leonardo almost rolled his eyes and allowed himself to relax a little. “He is almost unbearably self-satisfied on occasion; he thinks it natural that everyone around him should stop whatever they are doing to help him when he needs it. He is a bit like a cat dragging a half dead bird to your bed and expecting praise. And then he kills people. Like you.”

“A woman looses both her sons. She has already lost her husband and has nothing left.” Mette snapped vehemently: “Who will avenge her when she gives up and lets the grief claim her life? Do you know how many injustices women have to live with without the tools to fight back, neither physically nor lawfully? Rape, bereavement, violence.” she finished despondently, the fingers closing around the wound on her arm shook a little.

“You justify it. Just as Ezio does. His reason is based on loss. There is always a reason.” Leonardo said quietly.

She just stared at her feet for a while: “What did you do to me?” she finally asked.

“You should be able to feel the effects in about an hour.” Leonardo shrugged: “We can have this over with long before that. Please. I will call off the city guards and let the gondoliere know that the reward is no longer relevant and you can leave the city in the morning by ship. I will even pay your fare if you need it. Ezio is dying; I don’t care about reasons one way or the other right now.” Leonardo tentatively moved a little closer and handed her a handkerchief from his belt pouch.

She snatched the cloth and turned her icy eyes on him, giving him a long stare that made him feel exposed. After a while she said: “I care. You only agreed he was a bastard. You never gave me a reason for letting him live.”

Leonardo sighed: “He is honest. Loyal. The rest of the explanation you can have on the way. I beg you; his time is short.”  he pleaded and was surprised when she stood up slowly, clutching the cloth to the wound, and simply gave him a nod: “I must have my things with me. Do not attack.” She slowly crouched, drawing a small chest with an elaborate little padlock from its hiding place under the bed. There was a shoulder strap attached to the chest for easy transport. Then she said: “Fine, let us get this over with. But if you make any threatening moves, I will attack you, and this time you won’t be fast enough.”

 

o-O-o

 

It was the strangest walk Leonardo had ever taken. He had let Mette walk first down the stairs but once they were in the street, he had gently put an arm around her, locking his fingers into hers to prevent her attacking. She had been angry, and had been swearing a lot in her own language until she had given up and demanded to know why Ezio was worth saving. He told her, as they made their way to the workshop.

The walk seemed endless although he knew it was quite short, just through a few streets to the Rialto and then down to the workshop behind the market. As they walked, Leonardo was acutely and awkwardly aware that the closeness between them must seem intimate to the casual observer, as though they were lovers. There was a smell to her hair, he noticed. It was very familiar, and after a while he realised that it was the same smell as the apothecary’s store which he had often visited as an apprentice, fetching pigments for his master. Earths, plants, ores, minerals and all alchemical things in between. He said nothing of it, though, and was mildly surprised that she didn’t interrupt him as he told her of his friend.

They met only a few people in the streets, all of them quite happily drunk and when they reached the plaza it was silent, the refreshment stalls closed. There was a pale pink stripe on the eastern horizon and a chill dawn mist seeped into the air of the city when finally they stood before the door to the workshop. Leonardo felt the cold seep into his bones as he stared at the door to his home, realising that Ezio might already be dead and that this could be the last moment of his life where he had the right to think otherwise.

“What!” Mette snapped: “Is this it? You are going to have to let go of me.”

With a wave of annoyance flooding his body, Leonardo kicked the door yelling: “Aurelio, open up!”

It was a moment before there were footsteps on the other side of the door, and Leonardo was alarmed at the tired and almost defeated look in Aurelio’s dark eyes as he opened, although the expression changed to surprise as his gaze went from Mette to Leonardo and back again.

“How is he!” Leonardo demanded pushing past, into the workshop. He stopped abruptly. Ezio was stretched out on the heavy worktable, a blanket covering him, looking dead but for the very slight rise and fall of his chest with each irregular and faint breath. The tabletop beside him was strewn with vials and beakers and a mortar was filled with the ground leaves of a dried plant.

“He’s dying. I...” Aurelio stopped and locked the door behind them: “I don’t believe you did it... That you actually found her.” he said under his breath as Leonardo dragged Mette to Ezio’s side.

“Help him!” he demanded: “As soon as he is breathing easily again, you will have your antidote and we can be rid of each other.” He slowly released her hands and stepped away, as though handling a wild animal.

“Who is she...” Aurelio asked, taking a place next to Leonardo.

“She’s the one who poisoned him.”

“Of course, but who is she?”

Leonardo shrugged and they both watched as Mette started unpacking the small chest she had brought with her; filled to the brim with tiny glass bottles of liquids and powders, bundled safely into small padded, wooden shelves stacked neatly in the chest. Several implements for measuring, grinding and mixing the poisons fitted snugly into it, too. She seemed to survey Aurelio’s work-place for a moment.

“So,” Mette said conversationally as she felt Ezio’s neck dispassionately, fingers having to search for the pulse: “Which one of you, if any, is the painter.”

Aurelio gave a scoffing sound.

“That would be me.” Leonardo said: “Can you please hurry.”

“I was bested by a painter.” Mette said, her tone a tired statement as she mixed two liquids gently in a tiny bottle. “That would be…” she pointed inquisitively at the ground herbs in the mortar.

“Aconitum?” she asked as Aurelio echoed: “Aconitum.”

“Did you administer it?” Mette asked, ignoring the irritated glance from Leonardo as he moved closer, putting a hand on Ezio’s forehead, the skin burning under his fingertips.

“I was about to. As a last resort. I’m assuming you poisoned him with nightshade?” Aurelio asked smoothly.

“Yes…” Mette said sweetly.

“Tastefully classic. And it means that I might have saved him after all.”

“Thank you, and yes. I’m really sorry we had to meet like this over an almost soon to be corpse.” She smiled.

“Oh, would you stop that! Just help him and get out of my workshop!” Leonardo yelled, the annoyance that had been bubbling under the surface turning to anger.

She turned, a carefully studied indifferent look in her features, and handed the small bottle in her hand to Leonardo: “Get the corpse to drink this in a cup of wine. He will fall into a deep slumber that will still his heart to a minimum. At least that’s how it works on normal mortals. The dose of nightshade I gave him should have killed him hours ago, so I really can’t know. But it’s the best I can do for him.”

Leonardo snatched it from her and started preparing it with wine from a pitcher on the table: “What is it?” he demanded.

“Somniferum from the Holy Land; distilled and mixed with strong alcohol.” Mette readily volunteered. Leonardo gazed at Aurelio who nodded his approval and stepped closer to help get Ezio to drink the antidote.

When the project had med with success, Leonardo gently wrapped the blanket around Ezio again and drew a chair close, watching Mette who sat at the end of the table, removed from everyone, staring blankly into space. She was pale and the blood she had been unable to wipe off on her hand and chest made her seem even more alone. Leonardo wished he could hate her. Sighing, he took the basin of water that had been hot hours ago when Ezio had stumbled into the workshop, and brought it to her side.

“May I?” he asked and wringing the water out of a wash cloth, he held it up. She flinched, her hand going to her belt.

Leonardo sighed: “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“No, you already have.” Mette said, and relaxed a little as Leonardo gently wiped the blood off her skin and cleaned the wound on her arm. She sat still, staring at him while he worked.

“I can stitch it for you, if you like?” he offered but she just shook her head. Leonardo shrugged and bandaged her arm. When the work was done, she gestured towards Aurelio who was resting his hand on Ezio’s chest.

“I think it is starting to work. His heartbeat is slower; stronger.” Aurelio commented.

Mette jumped off the table and moved close to Leonardo. He felt the warmth from her body and saw the heat of a smouldering anger in her silvery eyes.

“As you see, I have been true to my word. It’s time you honour your promise.” she said.

“Your antidote.” Leonardo nodded and fervently wished that Ezio would somehow wake up and help him out of this mess. He backed away from her a little and poured a cup of wine.

“What did you poison me with?” she asked uncertainly, and Leonardo knew that she must see his guilty conscience painted on his face with a large brush. He held the cup out to her and she tentatively took it, looking at the mirror in the surface of the dark wine: “What is this?” she asked.

“It’s as much an antidote as any other.” Leonardo said, moving slowly backwards.

“What do you mean? That it is incurable or-“ She stopped herself and paled visibly, her curved lips pressing into a pale line of rage. “You didn’t!” Mette spat: “You didn’t even poison me! You just cut me. You tricked me!”

“Now please, try to understand my urgency.” Leonardo backed further away from her, watching her rage building as she approached him: “I really wanted to poison you, but there was no ti-“

With a scream of fury she threw the wine cup to the floor, where it exploded in hundreds of pieces with a brittle sound, and leap at him, hitting him sharply in the chest with full force. Leonardo gasped, the breath knocked out of him, and dropped to his knee. He lifted his hand to protect himself when there was a flurry of dark in front of him and the screaming and struggling woman was locked in Aurelio’s grip, her hair flying about her face.

“Her belt!” Leonardo struggled to say and picked himself painfully up from the floor. “Don’t let her-“ he began but was interrupted by the sound of running feet from the direction of the kitchen and another scream mixed with Mette’s. Leonardo looked up just in time to see Detta come running straight for Aurelio and the struggling woman, screaming: “Nobody touches my artist!” before landing a heavy fist-blow to Mette’s cheekbone which sent the redhead reeling in Aurelio’s arms.

Leonardo slowly backed to his chair, slumped down and looked at the sketches of Detta he had been working on, anticipating nothing but an evening of masks and music before Ezio had shown up. He looked at Aurelio who was holding Mette tightly. Her hair was a mess and she was struggling to stay conscious. Aurelio was seemingly caught somewhere between disgust and anger, and possibly in imminent danger of keeling over with laughter. Detta was looking smug, brushing her dress off and giving Leonardo a sideways glance full of smile, all the while Ezio slept happily on the table, his chest now rising and falling visibly and calmly.

Leonardo knew, that before he could sleep, he would have to make certain that the contact Pasqualigo had made available to him would be informed that the woman the guards sought was no longer a concern; that the gondoliere knew not to try to detain random redheaded women for florins. He would also have to make certain that Mette could leave the city as soon as she was able.

But for now, he rested his head in his hands and started laughing.

 

o-O-o

 

When Ezio awoke he didn’t open his eyes, but instead just listened hazily to the world around him. He had a vague impression that something had moved close by, but in his sleep-drunk half consciousness he didn’t give it any thought. He felt unpleasantly warm and sweaty and slowly moved to push the stuffy blanket away. A sharp pain in his arm reprimanded him and, resigned to the fate of feeling too warm for a little while longer, Ezio gave up, gently drifting off in a semiconscious slumber. There were noises, far off, it seemed; from outside. The sound of a cart in the street, the wheels bumping over the pavement. A gentle buzz of people far away, talking. A dog was barking. A gentle creak of the wood of a building settling in the heat. Ezio slowly opened his eyes, disappointed that the impressions had robbed him of his slumber.

Ignoring the pain, he lifted his hand. The stitches of the cut on his lower arm were small and neat. As he let his hand fall, the shade it had provided vanished and the bright sunlight cut into his vision. He turned his head and looked at the man curled up in a chair within arm’s reach of the table. It was a few seconds of studying the unruly blond hair, the stubble on his chin and the dark shadows under his eyes as he slept resting his head in his arm, before Ezio’s tired brain guiltily realised that it was Leonardo and the memory of running from the attackers, bleeding and realising that the poison coursing through his veins would likely finish him, hit him like the brick wall he’d had the dubious pleasure of meeting as he fell from the window last night.

He slowly reached out, lightly brushing Leonardo’s shoulder; the movement sent a sharp reminder through his body of the physical punishment he had suffered.

“Leonardo.” Ezio said, his voice sounding cracked and strange in his own ears.

Leonardo stirred, lifting his head and giving Ezio a sleepy stare which quickly turned sharp and alert as a smile lit his features: “You are awake! Thank God!” he jumped to his feet: “How do you feel?”

“Poisoned; beaten up.” Ezio said slowly.

Leonardo just grinned: “Interesting. I would have thought you’d feel like your life was saved by a painter who found your would-be murderer and got her to give you the antidote, making you feel much better...” he commented with a self-satisfied grin. “Do you need anything?” he added more seriously.

“What happened?” Ezio asked, trying to sit up: “How long has it been? How did you...” pained, he closed his eyes and fell back on the pillow; a wave of exhaustion washing through his body.  

He could hear the smile in Leonardo’s voice: “Don’t worry; I’ll be sure to take you through the minutiae of my cleverness as soon as you are recovered.”

Ezio smiled: “Of that I have no doubt.” he mumbled and drifted off to sleep again.

 


	4. Epilogue

 

Leonardo awoke with a gasp, realising that he had been nodding off and that a grim nightmare of waking and finding Ezio dead had presented itself to his inner eye. He frantically sat up straight in the chair he had been curled up in, all his joints protesting painfully at the sudden motion. The clear, brilliant afternoon sun shone into the workshop, playing across Ezio’s skin as he lay on the table. Leonardo felt his nightmare panic slowly fade as he sat and watched his friend’s chest rise and fall as he slept peacefully.

Earlier in the morning, Leonardo had considered trying to move him from the table but hadn’t dared it, fearing the healing sleep would be disturbed. He had settled for giving Ezio a pillow.

Rubbing his eyes, Leonardo rose and started pacing slowly back and forth to keep awake and brush the nightmare from his consciousness. His mind revisited the early morning’s events. The guards had been called off and Mette must be well under way by ship to whatever destination she had chosen, taken to the harbour under Detta’s watchful eye. The young courtesan had volunteered for the job, saying she was the one most used to being up all night and therefore best suited, and remarking that it was close to the strangest thing she had ever done for a customer.  Aurelio had packed his things up and told Leonardo that he owed him and to deliver the heavy bag to his house as soon as possible. Then he had gone home; almost smiling in farewell, leaving Leonardo with a tentative thrill in his body, thinking about what owing Aurelio meant.

A spike of tiredness shivered him and Leonardo stopped his pacing, again looking at Ezio to make certain he breathed. Then he made his way into the bedroom, taking a blanket and a pillow with him back to the work area. He crawled up on the large, heavy table and wrapped himself in the blanket while he sat staring at his friend and stopped his hand from reaching out to touch his hair, fearful it would wake him.

Gradually, Leonardo tilted over more and more until he was lying next to Ezio, his mind finally silent, and he immediately fell asleep, un-dreaming.

 

o-O-o

 

Leonardo slowly opened his eyes. It was dark and he was confused for a moment when he found that he was not in his bedroom. Then he remembered where he was and sat up, sleepily reaching out for Ezio but finding the space next to him empty. The wood of the tabletop retained only a slight warmth of the body that had lain there. He looked around in the near darkness of the workshop and was startled to see Ezio, standing close by.

“You are awake!” he exclaimed happily, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “How are you feeling?” he added, worried, seeing his friend swaying and supporting himself with a hand on the table.

“I’m fine, now.“ Ezio slowly crawled on to the table and fell back on the pillow, tired.

Leonardo reached out in the grey darkness and touched his hair, it was wet: “What did you do?” he asked.

“Washed. It was as if there was blood everywhere. And I needed some air.”

“I was worried about you.” Leonardo said softly. He jumped off the table and kindled a flame in the almost dead hearth, lighting a candle. He realised suddenly just how worried he had been and that a part of him had expected Ezio to die. His mind reeled away from the insight.

 _Fear is the only possible excuse for not noticing how thoroughly appetizing you are..._ he thought to himself to forcefully change the subject in his mind. He purposefully studied his friend’s broad-shouldered and lean-muscled body, and as he lit a nearby lamp and climbed back on the table, he mentally cursed Aurelio for letting Ezio keep his pants on.

“Leonardo?” Ezio asked, drawing a deep breath: “I’m a little confused.”

“But you are alive.” Leonardo smiled and folded his hands to avoid them reaching out.

“It must have been serious, though.” Ezio said, slowly running a finger over the wound on his shoulder, wincing slightly. “Your stitches are tighter the worse the situation is.” He slowly turned to lie on his good side, facing Leonardo. His eyes fell shut and after a while Leonardo allowed his fingers to travel to his friend’s neck, gently caressing his warm skin.

Ezio abruptly started awake: “Leonardo...” he asked, the sound of a smile in his voice: “Why am I on the table.”

Guiltily removing his fingers, Leonardo gave a laugh: “Aurelio must have felt it conducive to your continued breathing. I suppose he could have just thrown you on the floor.”

“Aurelio.” Ezio frowned a little, puzzled, and supported himself on his elbow. “That man... he kept marching me back and forth.” The elbow gave way gently under him, and Ezio slumped down, his eyes closing: “He kept me alive.” he said drowsily. After a little while he mumbled: “...Reminded me a little of my father.”

Leonardo smiled and gently drew the blanket over his friend and listened to his sleeping breath. Feeling weary, he finally lay down, his arm, unbidden, sliding under Ezio’s head, holding him close. It was almost frightening how familiar this was; a direct link to the time they had shared in Firenze.

There had never been any anger or breakup to tarnish their relationship, only a distance that came of both finding different new allies, duties, interests and playthings in their new city and there was still an appreciative silence between them that occasionally blossomed into intimacy.

An interesting day for Leonardo was if he found himself forced to brave the assorted nooks and crannies of Venetian society to find an assassin using poison as her weapon. He suspected that an interesting day for Ezio would be a day where he was not attacked, not hurting anyone and not in any immediate danger.

Sometimes in Leonardo’s mind, this staggering gap between them was very hard to reconcile. Whenever he saw Ezio, though, he couldn’t help but feel an admiration for the man he had become. He also felt an appreciation of Ezio’s reasons whenever he thought of the scared boy he’d been, who had suddenly found himself forced to shoulder an almost unbearable and horrendous responsibility in the midst of losing almost everything he knew and trusted in his life.

Leonardo leaned in closer to gently kiss Ezio’s damp hair and his hand wandered to his arm, almost touching the warm skin. _No, don’t do this. Let him sleep. Don’t start this again._ he thought, withdrawing his hand. Suddenly a wave of annoyed anger rushed through his body: “I saved your life!” he whispered crossly: “You are on my table and I’ll touch you any way I want!”

Leonardo knew that he was blushing in the flickering candlelight at the audible outburst; but he almost bit his lip when Ezio stirred and turned his face upwards, kissing Leonardo’s chin very softly: “Thank you.” he whispered. After a while he grinned: “You can touch me now.” They both started laughing, Ezio sliding an arm around Leonardo and holding him close.

“I’m sorry I lost you a little. I missed you.” Ezio finally said.

“Does this feel lost?” Leonardo asked quietly.

“No, not anymore. It just seemed like the only thing I ever brought you was... my problems. Almost too...” he searched for the right word a moment: “unashamed” he finally said: “to earn your kindness.”

“When you come here because your blades don’t work as they should, do you know what the first thing I do is?” Leonardo whispered.

“No?” Ezio shook his head slowly, puzzled.

“Usually, all the old blood clogging the spring is enough to make it require maintenance; so I just take them apart and soak the parts in warm water... That’s often all there is to it.”

Ezio painfully moved a little so they were lying at eye-level with each other. He frowned questioningly as he held Leonardo’s gaze but said nothing.

“You do not have the luxury of believing that I don’t know what you do.” Leonardo continued: “I know blood is spilled. I know you kill. And I know your reason for doing so.” He smiled as he pushed a stray lock of hair away from Ezio’s face, letting his fingertips caress as they travelled: “And, really, speaking of unashamed... You think I don’t know about the women?”

Leonardo couldn’t stifle a laugh at the strange look in Ezio’s face. He knew his friend must be feeling the same as he had years ago when Ezio had asked why Leonardo’s bed wasn’t full of beautiful women. A sort of horror at being found out. Surprise. Guilt. Relief. Hope. All mixed together. Laughter bubbling softly under the surface, Leonardo said: “I’d never try to change your nature.”

Ezio very slowly moved closer until their lips gently touched, sending a sharp heat through Leonardo’s body. He sighed in pleasure and his fingers went exploring softly, deftly avoiding the dark bruise that had formed on Ezio’s ribs.

“Why didn’t you ever say that? About the blood. I could have washed the blood away myself.” Ezio said.

“I’m going to pretend that the poison made you slow in the head.” Leonardo laughed: “If you didn’t need me; or if you didn’t at least _think_ you needed me...”

“Evidently I do.” Ezio said sincerely. “You found her? Wolf eyes?”

“Yes. And got the antidote from her.” Leonardo said, feeling suddenly drained at the memory of it all: “We need to talk about that. About her. But not now.”

“I’m... decently impressed.” Ezio said.

“Well...” Leonardo mused: “I suppose it’s not bad. I mean, for a painter...” he smiled.

Ezio opened his mouth to speak but Leonardo just grinned and stopped further questions with warm kisses.


End file.
